


Go With The Flow

by JaneDavitt



Category: Original Work
Genre: First Meetings, M/M, Yoga
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-17
Updated: 2015-04-17
Packaged: 2018-03-23 11:01:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3765691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaneDavitt/pseuds/JaneDavitt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Previously published by Torquere. Revised by the author.</p><p>Stressed and exhausted, Paul's not too happy about being pushed into taking a yoga class by his sister, but the instructor, Rob, is hot enough to change his mind. When he falls asleep at the end of the session, he thinks he's blown it and wants to leave, but Rob's got other ideas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Go With The Flow

Paul tugged at the shorts he was wearing, shorts that clung to his thighs and ended above his knees. He got a sympathetic smile from the woman beside him.

"No one minds what you look like here." She sat cross-legged on a purple yoga mat after working her way through some frankly intimidating stretches. The fact she was about thirty years older than Paul's twenty-five only added to the intimidation factor. "By the end of the class, neither will you."

"Too glad it's over?" 

She shook her head, chuckling. "First time?"

"How did you guess?"

"The look of naked terror on your face?" She nodded at him, but didn't offer her hand. It was encased in a thick, black, fingerless glove, so Paul didn't mind. "I'm Kathy."

"Paul."

The room was filling up now, women — all women — unrolling mats, and setting environmentally friendly water bottles and small towels within reach. Paul realized his plastic bottle, bought in a pack of twenty-four from the supermarket, was a major faux pas, but he brazened it out, taking a sip from it to calm his nerves.

Wasn't yoga supposed to do that for him? So why was he sweating before the class had started, certain he was about to make a complete fool of himself? It served him right for letting Linda push him into this. 

Linda had moved into his sister's apartment block six months before and attached herself to Paul's sister Sally like a limpet, despite having nothing in common with her as far as Paul could see. Over coffee at the local Starbucks, Linda had snickered when Sally said yoga would reduce his current stress levels¬¬—sky-high —and help him sleep. Snickered and said men didn't do yoga. Not real men, anyway. 

Sally had gotten that narrow-eyed look Paul remembered from childhood. The one followed by Sally squaring up to anyone from a bully to the principal and telling them they'd disappointed her. "Sure they do. My vinyasa flow class is full of them. And how are we defining real men these days, Linda?"

"I didn't mean—" Linda had shot him a vaguely apologetic glance. "I sometimes forget you're gay," she'd said, as if that was a compliment, which it sure as hell wasn't. "I mean, you never date anyone and you don't act gay—"

"Not helping, Linda," Sally had said through gritted teeth. "Paul's waiting for the right guy. Unlike you, he's got standards. Also unlike you, he doesn't end up in bed with a stranger, clothes off, legs spread, after a few cocktails and spin it into a grand romance. Or did you forget I know all about how you and Dylan met?"

"I don't care for your tone. When you're ready to apologize for being so rude and unkind—you know what? Don't bother." Linda had grabbed her coat and what was left of her dignity and stalked out of the coffee shop, without leaving any money for the large cappuccino and macadamia nut cookie. 

"Bitch," Sally had said softly, shaking her head.

Paul couldn't disagree. Humiliated — though not as much as Linda — he'd taken a deep breath. "I'll go. One lesson at least. Just because she doesn't think I belong there."

Getting a call from Sally the night before the class, telling him she'd wrenched her shoulder moving boxes of supplies at work had destroyed his resolve, leaving him gibbering into the phone, panic and nerves making him babble.

"Alone? I can't go alone. Shit, what do I wear? You were supposed to tell me what to wear!"

"I did tell you. T-shirt and shorts. Something you can move in. Bare feet. It's not a fashion parade, Paul. You'll be sweating."

He tried to joke it off. "It's yoga. Don't I just glow and levitate? Maybe throw in a few 'om' sounds?" He took a deep breath and practiced saying it, drawing the sound out until his lips vibrated.

"I go there twice a week and I've told— I said you're this incredibly cool guy and I love you to bits. Don't make me look like a fool with an idiot for a brother."

"Why don't I wait until your shoulder's better and go with you then?"

"No. You're going to the beginner's class with Tania, who's a sweetheart by the way. Tomorrow. Seven-thirty. And if you like it, your next six lessons are on me. Call it an early birthday present."

"And if I don't?"

"You can buy me a new mat. Mine's leaving bits all over the floor. There's a lovely jade green one for sale at the studio. If you hate yoga, pick it up for me on the way out."

Okay, that didn't make sense. "Tell me why I have to suffer though an hour of turning my body into a pretzel and buy you an over-priced rug? Won't you owe me?"

"Because I deserve something for trying to help. Because you love me. Pick one."

Paul had sighed. "Every time you use the 'because I love you' thing, it loses some of its power, you know that?"

Sally had snorted. "Does not."

She was right. It was always going to leave him melted.

The door opened and a man walked into the room, his bare feet quiet against the wide, wooden planks of the floor. Thank God. Another man. Paul was uneasily aware he was outnumbered and some of the topics of conversation made sweat break out over the back of his neck. Women shared. A lot. Paul gave the man a longer look and felt a zing of attraction sizzle through him. Nice. Tall, long blond hair caught back with a tie, a white sleeveless T-shirt exposing an intricate Celtic tattoo covering his left shoulder and upper arm, muscles without bulk, a tight ass just begging to be bitten — Oh.

Even before the guy sank gracefully onto the empty mat positioned by the small sound system, Paul figured out who he was.

Not a fellow sufferer, but the man in charge of the torture session.

The man glanced around, smiling. "Welcome to the class, everyone. Good to have you back, Jackie. Let me know if that knee's still bothering you. I see a new face, so I'll introduce myself. I'm Rob, the owner of the studio, and I'm taking this session because Tania's at a retreat. She'll be back next week, don't worry." His gaze met Paul's. The lighting in the room was too subdued for Paul to see what color Rob’s eyes were, but he had a feeling they were something exotic. Maybe jade green, like Sally's mat. He'd seen it in the small foyer, poking up out of a basket. The price had astonished him and not in a good way. "If any pose is too challenging, don't push yourself. Drop into child's pose—like this—and allow yourself to rest."

Paul watched Rob go from cross-legged to flat on the floor, his arms extended, his legs bent under him, knees splayed, and wondered how that position could be considered restful. His spine was going into spasms looking at it.

Rob sat and smiled at him. "Okay? What's your name, by the way?"

"Paul. It's uh, my first time."

"I hope it won't be your last." Rob picked up a small remote and the beat of a drum, slow and measured, filled the room. "Let's take a moment to ground ourselves. Close your eyes and concentrate on your breathing, feel your chest rising with the in breath…"

Breathing. That, he could do.

By the time the lesson reached the halfway mark, even breathing hurt. Around him, women ranging in age, weight, and flexibility were panting like him or "taking it to the next level" and balancing on the tips of their fingers with their legs wrapped around their necks. Slight exaggeration, but his vision was blurry.

He'd paid for this. A buck to rent the mat, fifteen for the session. Paid to have his heart pound its way out of his chest, his legs to shake and quiver as he attempted to hold tree pose. Like trees stood on one leg ever.

"Another few breaths in Warrior Two. Knee shouldn't extend past the ankle, remember. Paul, you've got long legs. You can widen your stance." Rob appeared in front of him and murmured, "May I?"

Paul nodded, because that took less effort than asking questions. Rob took hold of Paul's feet and moved them, turned his shoulders, then put a big, strong hand in the small of Paul's back and adjusted his position. The touches weren't lingering or intrusive, but they weren't impersonal either. Paul felt energy flow into him, as if Rob was sharing some of his boundless enthusiasm.

"Better?"

Paul's knees were bent more, which was never going to qualify as an improvement, but the position did feel more stable. He nodded.

He was warrior. Hear him roar.

And Rob's eyes were green, though thankfully not as bright a color as the mat. More of a hazel, really.

"Good!" Rob smiled at him and patted Paul's arm. "You're doing great. Marla, turn your back foot out another inch…that's it. Good."

After a few more excruciating minutes, the lesson, session, whatever it was called, moved into the cool-down section. At least, that was what Paul hoped. Getting to sit on his mat seemed promising. He soon learned that Rob could make him sweat as much from a prone position and that wasn't counting the enticing view of that tight ass flexing as Rob raised his legs, scissoring them with his core engaged.

Whatever that meant. Well, okay, Rob had explained it, but Paul was in no shape to firm up any muscles, let alone all the ones between his neck and hips.

"Now just slide your right leg back," Rob said a few moments later, when the class was sitting up, legs crossed. It brought back memories of kindergarten, with Mrs. Smithers saying, "Criss-cross, apple sauce," in an arch voice. "No, don't worry if you're using your left leg, Tammy, we'll be doing this on both sides. Yoga is a path you walk at your own pace, in your own way."

Paul had to admit that even when he'd fallen out of tree pose as if a lumberjack had wandered by, no one had done more than send him a sympathetic smile — and he hadn't been the only wobbly one. It helped that there were no mirrors reflecting back the harsh truth that after weeks of next to no sleep, he was pale, hollow-eyed, and jittery.

"Now, lean forward, extending the arms as we sink into pigeon pose. If this is too much—"

Rob's voice was pleasant, soft and clear, but Paul tuned him out. So far, though he'd held back from doing anything at one level up, he'd been able to avoid the suggestions to make poses easier, though others in the group had without self-consciousness or guilt showing.

He leaned forward, one leg bent under him, the other pointing back, and felt his body scream out an incredulous "What the fuck?" at him.

"Relax. Melt into the floor."

Relax? Melt? Paul panted, his hips on fire, his thighs ablaze. His shoulders hurt too. Hell, his toes hurt. 

"Surrender," Rob said quietly. "If the pain's a stabbing one, ease back, but otherwise, listen to your body's feedback. Accept it. Breathe. This is a great hip-opening position."

Paul took in anguished sips of breath, determined, foolish though it might be, to hold the pose as long as everyone else. He couldn't lose the competitive edge that had sustained him for most of his life. He needed it to drive him onward.

Rob appeared in front of him, crouching down. Without a word, Rob smoothed his hands across Paul's shoulders, then ran them down his back. It wasn't a tentative touch. Rob spread his fingers wide, their downward pressure insistent, compelling.

Paul made a sound close to a whine of protest even as part of him registered how good it felt to be touched with such confidence and certainty. Rob knew what Paul's body should be doing, what it was capable of, and he wasn't letting Paul get away with less than that.

"Relax," Rob murmured. "Every muscle. Relax. Don't fight it."

It was an order. The friendliest one Paul had ever had, but an order nonetheless. Something in him greeted it like dry earth meeting rain. He absorbed, accepted, obeyed. The discomfort lessened as he stopped struggling and for a few moments, he felt at peace.

Doing it on the other side wasn't quite as transcendental an experience, because Rob and his magic hands had moved away. Paul tried not to resent that. The woman Rob was helping had been struggling all class, her round face scarlet and sweaty, but filled with a smiling determination that drew an answering admiration from Paul.

A few spinal twists that actually felt good, in a picking a scab off kind of way, and Paul found himself on his back, legs apart, arms away from his side, palms up, starfished out on his mat, his eyes closed. Rob dimmed the lights, plunging the room into a restful dusk.

"Shavasana." Rob's voice was deep and mellow. "Final resting pose." 

The music changed to something slow and melodic, a man singing about the ocean, a single line repeated over and again. Paul took the slow, deep breaths Rob was telling him to, and felt himself drift.

"Imagine you're on a raft, supported by the ocean, the sky above you filled with stars…"

He tasted salt. Felt the sway and rock of the waves. He pictured himself crashing with them onto the shore and being pulled back into the warm water, an endless cycle, driven by his breath.

"Soften your gaze."

He tried it and was astonished to discover how tense the muscles around his eyes were.

"Breathe," Rob said with a gentle finality and stopped talking.

***

When Paul opened his eyes again, the room around him was filled with silence and the scent of a burning candle, the melting wax giving off its own perfume. A blanket was over him, warmth without weight, and he felt fuzzily content.

"Don't try to move yet." Rob's voice joined the silence without shattering it. Paul had closed his eyes again, but Rob was sitting behind him and to the side from the sound of it. "You've been asleep for a while. Start to move your fingers and toes a little."

He'd been obeying that voice all night, bending, stretching, pushing his body to strain and sweat. Now Paul wriggled as directed, his awareness returning. 

The room was empty and there were no chattering voices filtering through from the foyer. That made no sense. Asleep? After lying on a thin mat for a few minutes? At home, it could take hours for him to fall into even a broken, restless sleep.

The blanket was lifted away, the room too warm for him to shiver at its loss.

"Stretch your arms over your head. Point your toes. Feels good, huh? A whole body yawn. Now roll to your right side into a fetal position, yes, that's it, draw your knees up. Take it slowly. When you’re ready, rise to a sitting position. Keep your eyes closed if you like."

He rolled and rose, still feeling the restless tide surging within him. God, this was better than drugs. Not that he'd ever done any, but the euphoria was too good to be legal.

"Bring your arms up overhead, palms together, then down to heart's center…" Easy, so easy, all of it. "The light in me honors the light in you. Namaste."

Paul opened his eyes and saw Rob sitting in front of him now, bowing low.

"Uh, namaste," he repeated, the word awkward in his mouth and leaned forward.

"It's a greeting, a farewell, an acknowledgment," Rob offered. "Think of it as a thank you for sharing this time with me."

"Where is everyone?" Paul looked around. There were lights on in the foyer, but outside it was dark, and although his eyes had adjusted to the low light, the room was full of shadows.

Rob smiled and stood, bending to roll up his mat, the movements easy and routine. "You fell asleep. When we realized just how deeply you were out, the class tiptoed around you and left. I called your sister to make sure that you weren't supposed to be anywhere and she…"

"Told you I hadn't slept in weeks?" The euphoria fled. Paul got up too quickly and swayed, dizziness sweeping through him. "Shit."

Rob steadied him, his hand on Paul's arm for a moment. When he took it away, Paul found himself missing it. "Don't rush it. And, no, she just asked if I'd let you sleep. I live upstairs and this was the last session of the night, so I was happy to do that. I've been meditating and watching over you."

"For how long?" Watching him sleep sounded intimate enough that Paul was torn between embarrassment and a growing awareness of how close Rob was standing. 

"It's nearly eleven."

"I was asleep that long? Two and a half hours?" Paul shook his head. "God, I can't imagine what you must think of me. I'm so sorry. Really."

Rob frowned. "It wasn't a problem. Why are you upset?"

"I took up your time. I imposed. You'd finished work and I—and I wasn't even planning on coming back next week!"

Rob's frown became a quizzical look. "Maybe halfway through, you thought that, but now?"

Paul reconsidered. He'd ache tomorrow, maybe, but really, he'd never felt better. Tired, sure, but in a good way, and under it was an exhilaration that wasn't fading. "Well…"

"Tania's a great teacher. You'll like her."

"Oh." He'd forgotten that Rob wasn't the usual teacher for the beginner's class. "So what classes do you take, uh, teach?"

"Hot yoga twice a week, and the advanced class, plus… Why don't I just give you a copy of the schedule?"

"Okay," Paul said cautiously.

He bent to deal with his mat, but Rob shook his head. "I'll spray it and clean it off for you, don't worry. Are you okay to drive? I can make you a cup of herbal tea first, if you like?"

It was tempting—the company, not the tea—but guilt made Paul refuse. "I should go. I really appreciate what you did. Embarrassed as hell, but…"

"You needed it."

"Yeah." Paul sighed, the exhalation taking some of the residual stress from him, leaving him empty, light. "Like I said, sleep's been non-existent for a while."

"Want to talk about it?"

"Do you want to listen?"

"Yes, but maybe not now." Before Paul could feel rejected, Rob added, "You're tired and shaky. I don't want you to share more than you're comfortable with because of that. Maybe we could meet up tomorrow? It's my day off. Lunch at the Chip and Dip?"

Paul had never set foot in the small café, with its determinedly vegetarian menu, but his sister ate there often enough he supposed the food had to have something going for it.

"Sure, but only if you let me buy it as a thank you."

Rob shook his head. "There's no need for that."

"I pay, or you eat alone."

The amused, challenging gleam in Rob's eyes sent a pleasant shiver over Paul. "You sound very sure I'll give in. Or is this your way of getting out of the date?"

"It's a date?" 

"Oops?" Rob grinned. "Maybe? Could be?"

"Sally didn't say—"

"That I was gay? It's not exactly a secret. At all." 

"That you were anything. She's never mentioned you." That omission seemed more suspicious by the moment, like Sally's convenient shoulder injury. Sally knew him too well. If she'd said that he was likely to run into a possible date at the yoga studio, he'd have dug in his heels on principle. Instead, she'd mentioned her yoga classes a few times, then thrown out that casual invitation in front of the loathsome Linda.

He supposed that Sally would consider getting Linda off her back to be a nice bonus. 

"Would it have gotten you here earlier if she had?"

Paul couldn't find an answer to that. "If I say 'yes', I sound desperate, and I'm not. If I say 'no', it's going to sound like I don't want to go on a date with you and I do. It's been a long time, though."

Rob shrugged. "I've been so busy getting the studio up and running that I can't say I'm in practice either. Maybe we can help each other over the awkward moments."

"I want to tell you now," Paul said impulsively. "Why I'm so stressed. Get it out of the way."

Rob studied him for a long moment, as if making up his mind about something, then nodded. "Okay, but let's go upstairs. I really could use that tea."

Paul followed Rob out of the studio and up a flight of stairs to a small apartment at the top of the building. It was messy, but clean, a distinction he appreciated, and at first glance, the main room seemed to be mostly plants and books. 

"There's a couch over there." Rob pointed, absently batting a large green leaf out of the way. "Sorry. It's like Day of the Triffids in here. Some are mine, and I'm plant-sitting for a friend. She's got this idea that I have green fingers."

"I can see why." Paul had one piece of live greenery in his apartment and it was a poinsettia from Christmas that now, in May, was down to a few sad stalks and some drooping red leaves. Sally had said they weren't leaves, but they looked like them to Paul.

"I don't do anything special to them. Just water them." Rob sounded honestly baffled. "Sit and I'll make us the tea. Unless you'd prefer water or juice?"

"Water would be good." And a shower, though Rob hadn't taken one either, so they were both on the ripe side which cancelled out the stink, looked at one way. Maybe if he took a long one when he got home, he'd be able to sleep some more, though he didn't let himself start to hope. It would make the disappointment sting more when he found himself staring up at the ceiling, his brain refusing to switch off.

Paul sat on the couch, sipping his water, and Rob settled down onto a huge floor cushion the color of eggplant, a steaming cup of peach-ginger tea in his hands.

The silence grew between them, peaceful, no pressure to fill it. Paul had the feeling Rob would wait until dawn if that was how long it took for him to form words into sentences.

"I left my job," he said eventually. "Walked away from it."

"That can't have been easy."

"I couldn't take it." Paul stared at his hands. His fingernails were chewed down, but his hands weren't shaking now, at least. The water in his glass was steady. "They found out I was gay. Well, I told them. Not a secret, after all, nothing I'm ashamed of, but I wasn't with anyone, so it just never came up, you know? I was there to work, not socialize."

"Sharing with strangers is easier than with friends sometimes."

Paul gave him a quick look. "You're not a stranger."

He wasn't sure why he felt that way, but he did. Rob had guarded his sleep. That counted for something.

"They didn't take it well?"

The memories flooded back, scalding, bitter. "They nibbled me to death. You know that saying? Nibbled to death by ducks? They weren't unkind, well, a few were assholes, but they're easy to ignore. They just kept on at me, all the fucking time. It defined me. I was the gay guy on the third floor. Not Paul, the kickass accountant who saved Virison and Jones a quarter-million, not Paul who runs the coffee club, not Paul who went to school with my sister's best friend's boyfriend. I was just the gay guy."

"That sucks."

Paul rolled his eyes. "Tell me about it. Then my boss called me in. I thought, God, so stupid, that he was giving me a raise. It was that time of the year and I'd been doing well." He remembered knocking on Stuart's door, trying to compose his face into serious lines, when he'd been so fucking excited… "Instead, he told me that he was speaking to me as a friend, not my boss. That his church was having a prayer session for men like me, and I was welcome to join them. Be helped to see the light through the power of positive, healthy thinking."

Rob winced, his face screwed up with the same incredulous outrage that Paul had felt. "You've got to be kidding me."

"I walked out. It was either that or do something that would get me sued, like painting a giant rainbow on the lobby wall." Paul swallowed. "I didn't serve out my notice. I couldn't get another job. My money was running out. So I thought, fine, I'll set up on my own. Every multi-million dollar firm's got to start small, right? I prepared a proposal for my bank to float me a loan to set up in business by myself, and I was making good progress, getting myself on track, when the phone rang."

"They wanted you back?" Rob guessed.

"Yeah. Said they missed me. Well, no kidding. I was good. Said they understood that things had been difficult, but they were sure if everyone put their minds to it, blah, blah, positive thoughts, tolerance, more blah that added up to 'if you pretend you're not gay, so will we.'" He set his empty glass down on a table made out of odd bits of wood, fitted together so beautifully that each piece flowed into the next, and scrubbed at his eyes. They weren't burning, but they still felt gritty. "I can't sleep. I keep thinking that I was insane to walk away, then I think it's the best decision I ever made. I'm up, I'm down. I'm all over the fucking place. The meeting with the bank is in three days and if I go in like this, they'll turn me down and I'll be out of options." 

"I'm not surprised you're not sleeping. You're faced with a big decision and you're torn."

"Yeah." Not a life-changing one, maybe, but close to it. He faced two possible paths and each had sunshine and shadows, so which did he choose? "So now I've filled you in on the state of me, do you still want that date? Even if I end up sobbing hysterically on your shoulder or dancing on the table?"

"You won't do either of those things." It was another order, but again, Paul found himself responding positively to it, without a flicker of resentment. "And, yes, I want to see you again. I want to get to know you for myself. Sally talks about you a lot and I'd built up this picture…"

"She does? What did she say?" Paul found himself leaning forward, tense, which was ridiculous because Sally would never say anything that wasn't supportive.

Rob smiled and tucked a strand of hair back behind his ear. Paul wanted to see that hair loose, flowing down Rob's bare back or across his shoulders, the ink of his tattoo dark underneath it. "Enough that I had a crush on you before I even met you. I knew what you looked like; she showed me that photo she has in her purse."

"Oh God, not that one! I look like a serial killer."

Rob shook his head. "You looked so intense. You've got the bluest eyes, you know that? The photo doesn't come close to the reality. You sounded different from anyone I knew, but appealing. Kind. Clever. Hardworking. I didn't think she'd ever get you to come to class though, and even if you did, I knew it wouldn't be one of my classes. Seeing you there tonight—I freaked out. I wanted to make it good for you because I saw how much you needed to let go and I was worried that you'd hate it."

"I think if you'd told me to raise my leg up behind me one more time, I might've lost it," Paul said frankly. "That downward dog thing is tough."

"You need to rotate your—" Paul groaned piteously and Rob grinned and finished with, "Never mind."

"Thanks. I liked it more than I expected, but I'm yoga'd out." 

The conversation drifted after that, an easy sharing about nothing much in particular. By degrees, Rob moved, bringing the floor cushion with him, until the cushion was snug against the couch and his arms were resting on the seat, nudging Paul's thigh. It was an oddly relaxing way to talk. Rob was close, but not invading his space, though with every passing moment Paul found himself wishing that Rob would. They'd only just met, but it felt like the numbers on a padlock lining up, click, click, click, opening a box containing something special. He liked Rob, over and above the uncomplicated appreciation of the way he looked. Normally, faced with someone he wanted to know better, Paul froze or said too much, ruining his chances through nerves. With Rob, he wanted to share a conversation, and it was easy to talk and listen.

"You're going to see me in your class one day. I won't stay a beginner."

If Rob was surprised by the segue from movies they both liked, he didn't show it. "I'm sure I will, but don't rush it."

"I always do. I've got this competitive streak in me."

Rob shook his head. "In yoga, there's no opponent. No summit to conquer. No records to break. It's all about you, not the person on the mat next to you."

"That's going to take some getting used to."

There was a glint of amusement in Rob's eyes. "Make accepting it your goal, then. Whatever works."

"You make everything sound easy."

"It is. You'll make the decision that's right for you because you know what it is, deep down; you're just too tired to dig. A few nights of sleep and you'll work it out." 

"I think I already have." Paul shrugged, shedding the stress with the gesture as he made the decision he'd been putting off for too long. "I can't go back there. I don't know why I even considered it as an option. I tried to fool myself it was about making a stand for my rights, but it was because it was safe and the money was good. That's not enough. I'll get that loan—hell, even if I don't, I'll still set up on my own and drum up some local business if I can." The last of his tension left him as he shared his plans. "God, it feels good to say that out loud. In six months, when I don't have any clients, I might be back to stressing, but right now I can't wait to get started."

Rob scratched the side of his nose, looking hopeful but wary. "About that. I've been trying to do the accounts for the studio by myself and getting in a mess. Maybe I could be your first client? Unless it's a conflict of interests or something?"

Overwhelmed by the trust Rob was showing in him—for all he knew, Paul couldn't grasp the difference between credit and debit—Paul shook his head. "That's great. Really. But only if you want to. I mean don't feel that you have to, just because we're—and I'm not assuming we're dating when we haven't even had one yet, though I'd like, that i —oh God, make me stop. Please."

Rob shook his head reprovingly. "What you need to stop doing is thinking I'm being kind to you when you're the one doing me the favors. Like stepping in and taking over all those scraps of paper and computer files and making them mean something to the IRS. And meeting me for lunch when I'll probably end up with green stuff between my teeth and you'll be too nice to tell me."

"We can write it off to expenses," Paul said, half-seriously. "And I'll tell you. We can have a mutual green stuff stuck in teeth alert pact."

"It's a date, not a write-off! Keep the business bit separate." Rob caught his lower lip between his teeth for a moment. "Though I'm looking forward to you visiting me in a suit and tie, carrying a briefcase."

Paul laughed, and realized how long it'd been since he'd done that. "That sounds kinky." He thought about his reaction to Rob telling him to submit during the class and felt himself blush. He'd been too exhausted to get hard, but he'd still been aroused. "Uh, not that I mind that. I mean, within reason. Umm."

"Hmm." Rob's eyes were alight with interest, but to Paul's relief, he didn't push for details. "So, tomorrow? Maybe noon?"

Paul nodded and found himself yawning. "Sorry. Yes, that sounds great." He glanced at his watch and reluctantly shifted forward, preparing to stand. "God, look at the time. I'm supposed to be in bed before midnight. The doctor says early nights should help me sleep. Even if they don't."

Rob rose from the cushion in a fluid movement. "You'll sleep tonight. Use that alternate nostril breathing exercise I showed you." 

Another order. Another flash of warmth and arousal darted through him, leaving him yearning for more than he could ask for this soon.

"Sounds like a plan." Paul cleared his throat. "Uh, before I go…Do I snore?"

Rob grinned. "No comment."

"That means I did. Sorry."

"It was cute. More of a snuffle than a snore."

"Do you?" The question popped out before he could stop it. Wow. Way to push too hard.

Rob seemed blessedly unperturbed. "Maybe you'll get to find that out for yourself sometime soon. Until then…" 

He stepped closer, tall, but no taller than Paul. The good night kiss was friendly at first and it was Paul who took it further, sliding his arms around Rob and drawing him closer. It was so easy to close his eyes and part his lips, welcoming the gentle touch of Rob's tongue against his, a greeting, a question, a promise of more. He felt the shiver that ran though Rob as the kiss turned passionate, the two of them straining to get closer. 

The kiss ended on a sigh, as if they'd realized it'd gone as far as they could take it, and Paul rested his head on Rob's shoulder. He felt his head swimming, a delicious lassitude seeping into him. The drive home was only a short one, ten minutes or less at this time of night, but he was going to need to roll the window down to keep awake. 

"Are you sure you want to go?" Rob kissed Paul's temple, nuzzling at it, his breath warm against Paul's face. "I can feel how tired you are. You're welcome to take my bed and sleep here."

Too tired to be tactful or lie, Paul said bluntly, "If we shared a bed, I'd want to do more than sleep, but right now I'm so fucking exhausted I don't think I'd be able to do much more than disappoint you."

"That wouldn't happen, but I meant exactly what I said. You, just you, in my bed, sleeping. I'd be out here on the couch."

"I couldn't do that."

Rob sighed, impatience showing for the first time. "Yes, you could. Just walk in there, strip down, and get under the covers. Close your eyes, and sleep. If you don't sleep, you don't dream and dreams are important. Nature's way of dealing, you know?"

"I can't remember the last time I dreamed."

Rob stepped back, undid the tie holding back his hair and shook his head, the heavy weight of his hair swinging free. "So make up for lost time tonight."

Paul gave him a doubtful look. "You really don't mind?"

Rob frowned at him. "Don't make me say it again. Look at it this way, if you were drunk, I wouldn't let you drive home and right now, your reactions are as compromised as if you'd had a few beers. I'll drive you home if you like, but I'm tired and I want to go to sleep, too. I was up early to take the sunrise class."

"People do yoga in the morning?"

"The six-thirty class is one of the most popular ones. Go to bed, Paul."

"That's just so wrong." Paul took a hesitant step toward the bedroom door and then another. He needed to shower and brush his teeth, but he was still buzzed from the kisses, still caught in the afterglow of the class.

The bedroom was dark but he could see the bed, a wide, low expanse, an oasis of cool sheets and soft pillows. He undressed, shedding the few clothes he wore, the baggy T-shirt, the clinging shorts, and got into Rob's bed without letting himself think about it.

The bed smelled of Rob, a clean male scent that was comforting and potentially arousing, though right then any arousal was walled-off behind a thick cloak of exhaustion. Paul tugged a pillow lower, supporting his neck just how he liked it, closed his eyes and listened to Rob brushing his teeth next door. He fell asleep before Rob had finished rinsing.

***

His dreams were wild, a chaotic jumble of encounters, some frustrating, some bizarre. Like paint drops in water, they merged, his consciousness flowing around obstacles, guiding him to the bed he lay on, with Rob beside him.

More kisses, sweet as icewine, and as intoxicating. Paul let himself go, rubbing up against Rob's muscular body without self-consciousness, desire sharp and insistent. He needed to feel the blunt head of Rob's cock against his palm, the tip of his tongue, the inward dip of his asshole. He wanted to take Rob into him and make him welcome, the way Rob had done to him. 

He felt Rob's cock slide into him, effortless, painless, Rob's mouth on his, restless, brief, before Rob threw back his head, his hair wild around his face, a lion's mane.

"Feels so good being inside you."

There was a tattoo on Rob's hip, a complex spiral done in red and black. Paul covered it with his hand and felt it beat, pulsing urgently against his skin, a push, a sound, a heartbeat.

He moaned words that didn't make sense and arched up, offering himself to be fucked, his hands sliding around to cup Rob's ass. He dug his nails in, urging Rob to sink deeper, move faster.

"You want so much."

Even in a dream—and on one level, Paul knew he was dreaming —he could worry. "Too much?"

Rob leaned down, not to kiss Paul but to bite his shoulder, the dream-muted pain fleeting, the pleasure lingering. "No."

"Please…" What was he begging for? It didn't matter. Rob knew what Paul wanted and gave it to him, a wild ride that left Paul groaning out incoherencies, fucking himself on Rob's cock, when Rob rolled to his back, taking every hot, solid inch of it with Rob encouraging him.

He tried to hold onto the sensations, tried to keep touching Rob's skin, but the dream dissolved around him, leaving him in a tangle of sweat-damp sheets—he hoped that was all he'd left on them—his cock stiff against his belly.

It'd been a while since he'd woken up hard. He'd tried jerking off to go to sleep, doing it until the action had become a joyless, mechanical duty, the fantasies he'd used to claw his way to a climax worn thin with use, spoiled.

Now his cock felt quiveringly ready to go, needing nothing more than a touch to make it spill, rejuvenated by rest. Paul squinted at the bedside clock. God, he'd slept for eight hours or more without waking once. 

He got out of bed and stood for a moment, swaying as his body adjusted to being vertical. The idea of walking out naked, his cock at attention, wasn't appealing, but the thought of tugging on clothes that'd been clinging wetly to his body the night before made his skin crawl. There was a pile of folded laundry on a chair and trusting to Rob's easy mi casa attitude, he borrowed a T-shirt and a pair of exercise shorts. Both were big on him, but not ridiculously so.

The main room was lighter than the bedroom, sunshine flooding through the slats of the wooden blinds. He tiptoed into the small bathroom and took care of business making as little noise as possible. The shower could wait, but he really had to pee and splash some water on his face.

His reflection blinked back at him, his corporate haircut ragged around the edges now, his dark brown hair in need of washing. His eyes had lost the glazed dullness he'd gotten used to seeing, though.

Walking back into the living room, he made his way over to Rob, asleep on the couch.

Rob slept naked. Even lying on his stomach, his face mashed into a pillow, the view was breathtaking. He'd sprawled out in the night, looking for room that he just didn't have, and his right arm and leg were hanging over the side of the couch. A blanket was in a tangled heap at his feet, as if Rob had gotten hot in the night and pushed it off him.

Paul stared at him without guilt, openly admiring what had to be the fittest body he'd ever seen. He knew how flexible and strong Rob was after seeing him lead the yoga class, but he'd been too wiped to really appreciate it.

"Can I turn over yet, or are you still working your way down?"

Paul jerked back a step, his heart hammering. "God, you're awake!' 

Okay, he definitely won the prize for stating the obvious. Rob turned his head and gave him a sleepy, lazy grin, so mischievous that Paul lost his embarrassment. "Yep. Sleep well?"

"Better than you did." Paul gestured at the couch. "You're too big for it." Okay, that could've been phrased better…

Rob rolled over to his side, facing Paul and scratching his ribs. He glanced down. "I'm too big? Really?"

"Do you always wake up flirting?" Paul accepted the invitation and let his gaze go to the object of Rob's attention. "You look…" Desire dried his mouth. Dark blond curls, a generously sized cock rising up from them, flushed dark, the soft bulk of Rob's balls just waiting to be cupped and squeezed. "Fuck, you look amazing and you know it." Something occurred to him and he walked over to the couch and dropped to his knees. The way Rob was lying, he couldn't see—

"Thank you. And I like what my T-shirt does to your eyes."

"Hmm? Oh, yeah, I borrowed it. Hope you don't mind."

"I'm naked and you're not. I mind very much."

"This is going to sound weird," Paul said, "but do you have a tattoo on your hip? The one I can't see?"

That got him a puzzled smile. "No." Rob rolled, exposing bare skin. "See? Why do you ask?"

Paul sighed and sat back on his heels. "I had this weird dream and you and I were, uh, we were fucking and you did. Have one, I mean."

"Where?"

Paul put his hand over the place he'd touched in his dream and felt Rob shudder, his cock hardening fully, his nipples crinkling into tight buds. "Right there."

Rob put his hand over Paul's, holding it in place. "What did it look like? Can you draw it for me?"

"I don't think so. A lot of spirals in red and black. It looked good, but you know what dreams are like. It's fading already." Paul didn't care. Not with the reality so close to him, brushing sleepy kisses across his face, heading for his mouth.

Tonight, he'd sleep again, this time with Rob beside him.

But he had a whole day to spend getting to know Rob better first, and there was no rush.

As Rob tugged him closer, his hand sliding inside Paul's borrowed T-shirt, for the first time in a long time, Paul found himself wanting to stay awake.

He could still see the man of his dreams with his eyes open, after all.


End file.
